


The Case of 'It's Okay to be Gay'

by Eveanyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Homophobic Language, It ends sweet, Lots of Sex, M/M, Shit gets philosophical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eveanyn/pseuds/Eveanyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean meets a boy in fifth grade. John doesn't approve. This is the story of Dean and how he faces (or doesn't face) his sexuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Winchester is homophobe

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this fic for a class, so there's a lot of academic stuff in the later chapters. 
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely Betty Days. I promise there's a happy ending.

It all started with Neal Cassidy in the fifth grade. John Winchester had found a lead on the yellow-eyed demon in Ashtabula, Ohio, so Sam and Dean found themselves enrolled in Ashtabula Port Elementary for the months of January and February.

Neal sat right next to Dean and was told to make him feel welcome. Neal showed Dean where the cool things to play with at recess were, what lunch lady would give you a little extra to eat at lunch if you smiled right, and best of all, he showed Dean how it felt to have his first kiss.

It wasn’t until Dean’s birthday—January 24th—that it happened. They were waiting just outside the doors to the school for Sam to come find Dean so the brothers could walk back to their motel. Neal would wait with Dean every day and then run to catch his bus. Normally they talked about what comic books they liked (Dean was a Batman fan and Neal loved Iron Man) and debated whether or not the weather would let them have a snow day. That day, though, Neal was unusually quiet.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I have your birthday present,” Neal’s blue eyes were staring at the ground. He scuffed the snow with his boot.

“Sweet! What is it?”

Dean was surprised, but incredibly happy. No one had gotten a birthday present for Dean before that he could remember. Well, his dad usually bought him some more ammo, if that counted. Sam was too young to do anything more than make a birthday card out of crayons (and Dean would never admit to keeping every single one of them alongside his picture of his mom). No one else had ever given Dean a birthday present, though.

When Neal didn’t immediately respond, Dean stepped closer, put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, Neal, don’t worry. I’m sure whatever it is I’ll love it.”

Neal took a deep breath and leaned forward, quickly pressing his lips against Dean’s. They only stayed that way for a second, but Dean grinned stupidly when they pulled back. His lips tingled.

“Happy Birthday, Dean,” Neal said shyly.

“That was the best birthday present ever, dude. Thanks.”

Neal grinned. “Any time.”

~~~

The next two weeks were the best of Dean’s life. He and Neal hung out when they could, dragging Sam along with them to the arcade. They didn’t hold hands, and they only kissed twice more, but Dean was actually _happy_. Sam and Neal even got along. They’d argue about which X-Man was best (Gambit, obviously) and whether Harley Quinn was a good bad guy (she totally was). Sam smiled a lot now, which made Dean feel like he should be proud that something that made him happy made his little brother happy, too. He wished they could stay there forever.

February 13th arrived and Dean made Sam stop by the gas station on the walk home from school. He picked up a cheap box of X-Men Valentine’s cards. When they got back to their motel room Dean opened up the box and picked out a good one. It had Wolverine and Cyclops on it and it said, “Hey bub—you can count on me!” Dean liked it. He thought of himself as Wolverine and he thought that Neal could make a pretty cool Cyclops. They looked alike, at least, so that was cool.

He had just finished writing _To: Neal, From: Dean_ on the front of the Valentine when the door to the motel opened and his father walked in.

“Dean. Where’s your brother?”

Dean tilted his head towards the bathroom. “Shower.”

John nodded, looking around the room. His eyes settled on the card in Dean’s hand. “Valentine, huh? Who’s the lucky girl?”

Dean looked down at the valentine in his hand. Stomach in knots, he handed it to his father. John’s face darkened when he read the words on the front of the card. Dean knew what was coming but the force of John's rage still took him by surprise.

One moment he was staring at the carpet and the next he was being slammed up against the wall, the breath knocked out of him. His face stung. He didn’t remember the blow, but he was sure he was going to feel it in the morning.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? I go away for a month and this is what I come back to?” This time Dean saw the slap coming. He didn’t flinch, he knew better by now. “What the fuck is this?! I will not have some fairy fucking faggot for a son.” Dean didn’t let himself cry. If he cried it always got worse, and it might last long enough for Sam to come out and he didn’t know if their Dad would take out his frustration on Sam, too. Dean couldn’t let Sammy get hurt, so he let the blows wash over him. He’d give himself time to hurt later. Eventually the hits slowed down, stopped. “Get your brother and get your shit packed now. I’ll be in the car.”

Dean stayed slumped against the wall for a few minutes after the front door slammed shut. He heard the water in the bathroom turn off and the door open tentatively. “Dean?” Sam’s voice was quiet.

“Pack up, Sammy. We’re going.”

“But—”

“Dad’s orders.”

Sam nodded and got dressed. Dean gathered his things in his duffel bag. He helped Sam finish packing and did a final sweep of the room. The valentine was crumpled up next to one of the beds. Dean picked it up, smoothed it out. _To: Neal, From: Dean_. Neal would never get to see those words, never hear Dean say goodbye. He left the valentine on the bed anyway, hoping that maybe he was wrong. Then he shouldered his duffel bag and walked out the door. Four hours later they were out of Ohio, John brooding silently in the driver’s seat and Neal Cassidy getting farther away with every mile.

And that was how Dean Winchester learned that it wasn’t okay to kiss boys.


	2. Dean, meet Rhonda Hurley.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean was nineteen and had just finished a good old fashioned salt-and-burn of a ghost that had been terrorizing an old house. He was hungry, and he was horny. He knew just where to go to fix both of those problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some porn.

Dean learned to hide himself behind a cocky grin and a give-‘em-hell attitude. He focused all his time on saving people, hunting things: the family business.

Over the years he had discovered that John seemed to approve whenever he met a girl, so he made a point of talking about hooking up with girls whenever he could. It was one of the few things John would acknowledge he’d done well. Dean met a steady stream of women and learned how to keep himself distant. He got good at flirting without getting close, and he made sure to leave a positive, lasting impression on all the women he met.

There weren’t any further incidents with his father, and Dean was able to shove down any desires for things that would bring on a John Winchester Special. Or, at least, he was able to keep them to himself.

Dean was nineteen and had just finished a good old fashioned salt-and-burn of a ghost that had been terrorizing an old house. He was hungry, and he was horny. He knew just where to go to fix both of those problems.

The diner that Rhonda Hurley worked at served some pretty decent burgers. Dean had set the groundwork with Rhonda the day before when he and Sammy came in for lunch, but there hadn’t been anywhere to let a 15-year-old kid entertain himself while Dean got off with some chick in the backseat of the Impala, so he had given Rhonda a wink and a promise to return.

Rhonda was a tall, leggy blond with hazel eyes and a wicked smile. She wasn’t the type of girl Dean normally went for, but there was something about her that drew him in. It certainly helped that she smelled fantastic and when she had leaned over him twice during their first time meeting, her breasts brushed quite deliberately across his arm.

It didn’t take much talking after Dean finished his burger before they had left the diner and moved on to her apartment. Rhonda didn’t waste any time, taking off Dean’s jacket and flannel just inside the door. She got him naked quickly and then got to work on her own clothes. She stripped down to her underwear and followed Dean’s hungry gaze as he stared at her silky, pink panties.

“You like what you see?” She hooked her thumbs through the waistband.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I like…”

Rhonda slid the panties down her legs, then held them out to Dean. “Put them on.”

Dean’s eyes bugged out of his head. “What?”

“You heard me. Put them on.” Her voice was authoritative, demanding. His dick twitched in response.

Dean looked at the panties dangling from Rhonda’s outstretched hand. John’s voice echoed in his head: _I will not have some fairy fucking faggot for a son_. He looked at Rhonda, who waved the panties in the air, then took a deep breath and grabbed them, letting the silky material flow through his hands. He stepped one foot through a hole. Then the other. He slowly pulled them up. The material caressed his skin, softly cupping his cock and sending shivers through him with every movement. God, he was so hard from this. Shame flooded through him. He knew what he was doing was wrong, that his father would beat him until he could barely walk if he found him like this. He made as though to take the panties back off when suddenly Rhonda was kneeling in front of him.

She mouthed at Dean through the fabric and he gasped, eyes closing and head falling back. This wasn’t something he should enjoy. This was forbidden. But, God, he wanted this. There was something about wearing panties that gave Dean a rush he wanted to ride for days. He thought about his father’s words one more time. He didn’t want to stop this, but what kind of man would that make him if he kept going? Rhonda’s hands and mouth were all over him. She didn’t think less of him if those throaty moans were anything to go by. Maybe he could have this one thing, this one time. Her full lips wrapped around the head of his cock through the panties and his decision was made for him. _Fuck it._ He gave in.

Dean threaded his fingers through her hair, encouraging her tongue and lips and teeth to roam over his cock where it lay heavy against the panties. The head, red-tipped and pre-come already leaking, peeked out above the little black bow. She grasped the shaft and swirled her tongue around the tip. He groaned, and she pulled the panties aside and swallowed him whole.

Her tongue working up and down his cock was one most fantastic feelings Dean could remember having. The panties rubbed against his balls just as Rhonda’s tongue dipped into the slit on his head and he almost came right then. Not wanting it to be over too soon, he pulled her off him and walked them over to the futon. He gently sat her down and knelt between her legs.

Dean prided himself on being able to read people, to know what drove them and what they wanted. When it came to sex he normally liked to give and give, only taking for himself when he’d wrung his partner dry. But when he read Rhonda, he didn’t see someone who wanted him to give. Rhonda wanted him to take.

He grabbed her roughly and pulled her until her hips were off the end of the futon. He stuck two fingers inside her mouth and as Rhonda swirled them around her tongue he hungrily moved down to her clit, flicking his tongue over it before pushing his tongue flat against it and sucking. She gasped and drove her hips upwards, begging for more.

Dean put the two spit-slicked fingers inside her, tongue still lavishing her clit. He set up a fast rhythm, wanting to get her writhing underneath him quickly.

It didn’t take long. Soon Rhonda was choking out, “Dean! Dean, oh god—yes!” and he pulled his fingers out and sat up. He quickly rolled on a condom. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Dean turned them so she was straddling him. He didn’t give her time to catch her breath before he sheathed himself in her to the hilt. He groaned as the movement of the panties on his balls set off a spark of velvety friction. He drove in and out of her, riding the feeling of that silky material, feeling that familiar burn coil low in his stomach.

Rhonda steadied one hand on his shoulder and moved her other hand behind her, low between his legs. One of her fingers circled his entrance and he moaned. She wasn’t gentle when she pushed her finger past that ring of muscle and Dean reveled in the burning sensation. He rocked up into her and then down onto her finger. It was another thing he felt he should be ashamed of, but it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to do it at the moment, especially when she added in a second finger beside the first.

“You like that?” Rhonda’s fingertips brushed his prostate and he gasped. “You like my fingers inside you while you’re wearing my panties?”

Dean’s face turned red, but he didn’t slow down, still pounding up into Rhonda then down onto her hand. “Yeah. Fuck yes, I like it.”

Rhonda gave a little gasp and ground down onto Dean. He could tell his words pushed her right to the edge. Face flushing even darker he whispered, “I love your fingers in me. I love fucking up into you while you open me up. You’re gonna make me come just like this. Keep it up, sweetheart. Keep fucking my ass with your fingers while I’m wearing your panties.”

She gave a high, breathy gasp and shuddered, her walls clenching around Dean. She hooked her fingers inside Dean and hit his sweet spot. It was enough to push him over the edge and his hips stuttered as he came, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

After a minute Rhonda chuckled and crawled off his lap, allowing him to go take care of the condom.

In the bathroom Dean took off the panties and held them in his hand for a minute, staring at them. He shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he did. What did that say about him? Sure, Rhonda had enjoyed it, but did that…emasculate him?

He didn’t have any more time to think about it because Rhonda was suddenly leaning against the door jamb. “So, that was fun. You can keep the panties if you promise to think about me when you wear them.” She winked. “I’m going to go to bed. If you’re ever in town again, be sure to hit me up.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then disappeared down the hall.

Dean got dressed and tucked the panties in his pocket. If his dad found them he wouldn’t have to lie. They did belong to a girl he slept with. He’d just neglect to mention that _he’d_ been the one wearing them when they had sex.

As he drove back to the motel, the sounds of Led Zeppelin coming through the stereo, he vowed to never tell anyone about what had just transpired. Dean Winchester knew better than to be anything other than exactly what his father wanted him to be.


	3. You've got a pretty mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is out of money. How the hell is he supposed to take care of Sam?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SORRY this has taken so long to update. This chapter was really difficult to write. I'm not great with Destiel smut, and I'm really not good with non-Destiel smut, so please forgive me. I promise the next chapter will come out more quickly.

John had left them alone with forty goddamned dollars which had run out two days ago. Dean hustled pool and played poker, but it wasn’t nearly enough to keep the motel room paid for and Sammy fed.

Dean didn’t know what to do.

He was at a bar nursing a whiskey (given to him by a flirty bartender who didn’t ask for ID) and wondering what the hell he was going to do when the solution walked up to him.

The guy wasn’t unattractive. He was slightly bigger than Dean, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. He was probably close to 35 with dark hair and eyes. He smelled like engine oil and beer—good, familiar smells to Dean.

They struck up a conversation and the guy bought him a few drinks. The guy didn’t offer up a name and since Dean wasn’t going to ask he just started calling him Guy in his head. After a while of polite conversation and laughing Guy put his hand on Dean’s leg. Dean looked around to see if anyone noticed, if they were giving him the scathing looks that John would give, but no one was paying any attention to the two men.

When Guy leaned over to him and whispered in his ear, “Bathroom or alley?” Dean was a little shocked. He didn’t let it show on his face, and instead smiled while he thought frantically. Dean was out of money. He needed to keep Sam fed and housed and _safe_ , and he would do anything to accomplish that. Did anything include allowing himself to be propositioned?

An image popped into his head of Sam lying on a bed with his ribs showing, face emaciated and eyes brimming with tears saying, “It hurts, Dean. I’m so hungry.” Sam had been six at the time. Dean would be damned if he let his brother go through anything like that again.

“Bathroom works for me.” Dean stood up and followed him back through the bar and into one of the stalls. He wasn’t quite sure where to go from there, but Guy was apparently not new at this. He unbuckled his pants and pulled his dick out, already half hard. He gave it a few strokes while staring at Dean with a hungry look in his eyes.

“Fifty bucks for your mouth, twenty for your hand. I got condoms. You can use whatever you’d like, but I’d love to see those cocksucking lips wrapped around me.”

Panic crashed into Dean. He couldn’t give this guy head. His dad would be the ever loving fuck out of him. But, Jesus, Dean needed the money, and fifty bucks would get them some food and another night in the motel. Maybe it wasn’t gay if he did it for money. If he did it to keep Sam safe, he could just say he was doing what needed to be done and it wasn’t anything sexual.

Guy was still watching him, waiting for Dean to make a move. _Fifty bucks._ “Get out the condom,” he muttered, sinking to his knees.

Guy quickly pulled a condom out of his wallet and ripped open the wrapper. He rolled it over his length and leaned against the wall.

Dean took a deep breath. This wouldn’t be too bad. He grabbed the base of Guy’s shaft firmly in one hand and hesitantly swirled his tongue around the head. He knew what he liked during blowjobs, so it was a good a place as any to start.

Apparently it was a good place to start, if Guy’s moan was any indication. He grasped the back of Dean’s head and put a little pressure on it, urging Dean’s mouth to swallow down the length of Guy. Dean was surprised he could handle it, but his nose was brushing against the curly hair at the base of Guy’s cock and no gag reflex had kicked in. He tentatively pulled back then pushed down again, setting a fast but steady rhythm.

“Yeah, baby, just like that. Look at your pretty lips around my cock. Bet you were thinking about this all night, weren’t you? Mmm, yeah. Suck me off with your pretty little mouth.” Guy’s moans went on like that for a while. Dean found that despite the insincere commentary he was actually enjoying himself a little. Guilt and shame welled up inside him, but he didn’t slow down. If he stopped, Sammy wouldn’t be taken care of, and that was the most important thing. But he could try to speed things up, to be done sooner and hopefully be able to push down the self-disgust he was feeling for enjoying himself.

Quickening the pace a little, he flattened his tongue on the underside of Guy’s cock and _sucked_. Guy hissed in a breath and tightened his grasp in Dean’s hair, hips thrusting shallowly in and out. Dean suppressed the thrill of pleasure that ran through him for being able to elicit this from another guy. This was a means to an end, not anything he should get enjoyment out of. _Focus, Winchester_.

Dean hummed around Guy’s cock once and apparently that was all it took, because Guy’s hips suddenly jerked and he let out a little gasp as he came. Dean let off the suction but kept bobbing softly until he felt the spasms subside. He pulled of Guy’s rapidly softening cock and leaned back.

Guy took off the condom and threw it in the trash then tucked himself back in his pants. He pulled his wallet out and handed Dean a fifty-dollar bill. With a wink and a “Thanks, sugar,” Guy opened the stall door and walked out of the bathroom, leaving Dean still on his knees and half-hard.

He took a breath and stood up, then groaned when his erection rubbed against his jeans. _Goddamn it._ Maybe just this once it would be okay. With the memory of fingers tightening in his hair, harsh breaths, and a cock heavy on his tongue, Dean unzipped his own pants and took himself in hand. It only took a few strokes before he was fully hard, thrusting into his own fist. He leaned back against the wall of the stall and imagined Guy’s eyes still on him, watching with that hooded desire as he whispered about Dean’s _pretty little mouth_.

It took Dean an embarrassingly short amount of time before he felt that familiar coil low in his belly and he was coming over his fist with a muffled groan. He quickly cleaned himself up and left the bathroom, shame flooding through him at the knowledge of what he’d just done.

Getting someone off for enough money to take care of his brother was one thing, but getting _himself_ off to the memory of it? That was another thing entirely.

Dean wasn’t exactly ashamed that it was those thoughts alone that could make him come, it was more the knowledge of what John Winchester would do to him if he found out what his oldest son found sexually gratifying. He was ashamed that once again he wouldn’t live up to his father’s expectations of him, that once again he would be a failure. Sam was always the smart one, and Dean was proud as hell of his brother for that. He never held it against Sammy that John showed favor to the younger son. He deserved it. Dean just wished he deserved it, too. What he’d just done, though? That certainly wouldn’t earn him any praise unless it was delivered by the back of John’s hand. Or his belt.

Dean pushed that thought away with a shudder as he walked out of the bar towards the Impala. He had a little bit of money in his pocket and the means of making more. If enough people thought Dean’s mouth was worth it (even if Dean himself wasn’t), he’d be able to keep his brother safe, warm, and fed. He started the car and headed back to the motel.

Dean Winchester had turned his first trick and liked it.


	4. Dean, discover Dr. Kinsey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has some serious soul-searching to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since you guys waited SO patiently for the last chapter, I decided to give you another one as an apology. Most of the rest of the fic is written, so it won't be nearly as long between updates anymore. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorrynotsorry for leaving you with a bit of a cliffhanger.

The first time Dean met Castiel he'd shot him. Repeatedly. And stabbed him in the heart. When the bastard didn't die he knew something was up. Well, maybe he'd known before then. That damned handprint that was seared into his flesh throbbed whenever the lights went wacky and the windows started exploding. It wasn't exactly a painful experience—hardly anything was painful after Hell—but it made Dean uncomfortable. It was almost like he could _feel_ the angel through that raised flesh, and raising him from Perdition or not, Dean didn't want to have that kind of attachment to anyone but Sammy. Sam was all the family that Dean had left, and he was the only thing that mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turned out having an Angel of the Lord around was pretty damned handy, though. The guy had literally died for them right before Sam jumped into the Pit. He was a weird guy, always good in a tight spot, even if he didn't understand half the references Dean made. Dude had never seen _Star Wars_. Wasn't that a crime against humanity?

Dean had had a _Star Wars_ marathon with Ben. He’d even taken him to see the new _Star Trek_ and laughed when he thought that Spock was a lot like Castiel. Then he remembered that with Sam gone and him being out of The Life there probably wasn’t any reason to see Cas again. Dean didn’t like the weird pang in his chest when he thought of that. He remembered how Cas had told him that humans were like works of art, and the way the angel had looked at him when he’d said it. He remembered how Uriel had told Castiel that he liked Dean too much. The hot feeling in the pit of his stomach grew like it did whenever Dean remembered those blue eyes staring into his for far too long. So he did what he always did when that happened—had one drink too many and took Lisa to bed, burying himself inside of her while staring up into her brown eyes which were _definitely_ not the exact wrong color.

Then one day Dean almost killed the neighbor’s Yorkie thinking it was a monster he needed to gank. He knew, he just _knew_ , that he wasn’t going to be able to stay out of The Life. His brother showed up. Sam. Sam was there in front of him, and Jesus it felt good to be out with him again. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, though. Now that Dean had stayed with Lisa and Ben for so long, they were his responsibility to keep safe. And wasn’t that the kicker? Sure, Dean had told Lisa that when he thought of being able to have a happy life it would be with her, and he hadn’t been lying. He even thought maybe he could do it. There hadn’t been anything to lose since Sam had gone into the cage and he had wanted to try to fulfill his brother’s last wish. So he had removed himself from everything in his former life. He put Baby in the garage and made damn sure that Ben knew to stay away from her. He loved Ben like a son—he still wasn’t entirely sure that Ben _wasn’t_ his son—and he liked Lisa a lot, but he knew deep down that she wasn’t what he needed. (He distinctly didn’t let himself think that what he _did_ need came in the form of the stupid Angel of Thursday and his damned ‘celestial intent’.)

Even though he tried to keep away from his former life, Dean didn’t let everything go. He kept waiting for the familiar sound of fluttering wings, the sight of that ugly-ass trench coat, that permanently mussed hair, and those damned blue eyes. Dean waited for a full year. He waited through the Djinn that had started going after people close to Dean. He waited through the shapeshifter baby case. Cas didn’t show up on his own, though. Dean was pretty sure that the angel had forgotten about him. It wasn’t like a wavelength of celestial intent would be interested in keeping tabs on some human, would want to stick around for a human. _“I did it—all of it—for you,”_ his mind replayed that back to him repeatedly, but Dean was really good at shoving unwanted memories in a storage closet in the recesses of his mind. One more sentence paired with a piercing look of blue eyes could fit, right there next to his father’s words: _fairy fucking faggot_.

So Dean kept working cases, ignoring those stupid nagging stray thoughts of the angel and instead turning his attention to trying to find a way to get his brother’s soul back. He struck a deal with Death. Life went on.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Things were starting to maybe look up for Dean. He and Sam found a kick-ass bunker for a home base. His brother had his soul intact, he had survived Purgatory. Then Cas came back all decked out in his tax accountant get-up and suddenly Dean was in fifth grade again, only this time instead of wanting to just kiss a cute guy he had to press the heel of his palm to his crotch to stop himself from getting hard while looking at Castiel when Sam was _right next to him_. _Damn it._ He pushed all his feelings into the storage closet. It was really hard to shut that door all the way.

It didn’t help matters along at all when they went on that Golem case. Dean had really thought that Aaron had been flirting with him. He hadn’t known how to react. Dean Winchester didn’t know how to react to flirting. _Dean Winchester_ got flustered because some _dude_ called him interesting. Then it turned out Aaron hadn’t really been flirting with him and he’d be damned if he admitted feeling a little hurt about that fact.

So after they wrapped the case up and were back in the bunker, Dean made sure Sam was asleep in his own room before he took out the laptop. It was time for some research.

He came across some books and articles that piqued his interest. (He wasn’t specifically looking up things on male sexuality and homosexuality in particular. Those are the articles that just happened to pop up on Google under the search results ‘how do I know if I’m gay’ that someone else must have typed in.) He started scrolling through one of the books.

_Even their efforts, however, were profoundly shaped by the cultural presumption that sexual desire for men was inherently a feminine desire. That presumption made the identity they sought to construct a queer one indeed: unwilling to become virtual women, they sought to remain men who nonetheless loved other men._ Dean shifted uncomfortably at the word “love”. He’d never been able to say it, even to his mom. Applying that word to the unfamiliar feelings inside of him was almost enough to make him stop reading. But he didn’t. Something about the words on the screen drew him in and opened a door to possibilities he hadn’t let himself believe in since he was eleven years old.

_If many workingmen thought they demonstrated their sexual virility by playing the “man’s part” in sexual encounters with either women or men, normal middle-class men increasingly believed that their virility depended on their exclusive sexual interest in women._ John Winchester’s face flooded Dean’s vision. Hell, Dean’s own face should go right up there alongside of John’s. What else had Dean been doing all these years but proving his virility to his father? Had it been worth it, all those times he shoved down desire for someone whose only drawback was the fact that the equipment dangling between their legs was the same as Dean’s? Had he been missing out on a whole other part of himself most of his life?

_The “mysterious bond” between gay men…_ Dean stopped reading as he recalled Castiel once saying, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” It didn’t mean anything. Did it?

_They took full advantage of the cultural injunction against men looking at other men in the sexually assertive way they gazed at women; a “normal” man almost automatically averted his eyes if they happened to lock with those of a stranger, whereas a gay man interested in the man gazing at him returned his look._ How often did he catch Cas staring at him? Hell, how often did he stare back? How many times did Dean have to have the talk with the angel about personal space? He only ever seemed to need to have that talk with Cas when it applied to Dean, though. He had seemed very unwilling to be too close to Sam or Bobby.

_“All my life I had had to wear a rigid mask, a stiff armor of protection, not necessarily to pretend to be what I was not—heterosexual—but not to be identified as homosexual. Not that I was ashamed of so being, but to defend against insults, humiliations and mockery, and also to make a living an do the sort of work I wasn’t wanted to do.”_ Dean sat back, thinking. He had thought that after getting out of Hell he just didn’t want to do the whole one-night-stand thing because he was over it. With Lisa, he took comfort in her physical closeness, but really it had been more about spending time with Ben. Since he’d left Lisa, Dean had only been with one other woman, and it turned out that she was an Amazon warrior who only wanted him to procreate.

Shit, had he been wearing a mask his whole fucking life? He thought back to Neal, to those blue eyes that were a few shades lighter than Castiel’s, whose hair had been long and messy but not quite the same. He thought about the women he always went after. They were dark skinned, dark eyed, dark haired. He thought about the soldier he saw in 1944 who had sent him a cocky grin and a wink. Blue eyes, dark hair. He wasn’t apparently going for the same thing in a man as he was in a woman. Since when did he think about “going for” a man, anyway? He hadn’t _let_ himself think about it, afraid of what his father would say. But John Winchester had been dead for a few years now. Dean had literally been to Hell and back. Maybe he was no longer beholden to his father’s way of thinking. Maybe, just maybe, Dean could start to be his own man. He moved on to another link.

He came across something called the Kinsey Scale Test. He clicked on it. A series of questions popped up and Dean figured, _why not?_

_What is your age_? 31.

_What gender do you identify as?_ Male.

_I have never felt sexual desire._ Ha. False.

_I cannot decide what sex I am attracted to more._ Dean thought about blue eyes and dark, messy hair. He thought about a gorgeous rack and a petite, sexy mouth. The mouth in his mind morphed until the lips were fuller, pink, and in a perpetual state of slightly chapped. Well, guess that answered that question. True.

_I find the idea of having sex with another man repulsive_. Again blue eyes flashed in his mind. Very false.

_I wouldn’t want to die without having experimented sexually with both men and women_. Well, if he was being completely honest with himself: True.

_I have no interest in sexual intercourse with anyone_. False. Very false.

_The gender composition of an orgy would be irrelevant in my decision to participate._ True.

_I avoid watching gay pornography._ Dean looked around, made sure he was alone. False.

_I can be sexually attracted to anyone in the right circumstances._ True.

_I have always been extremely confident in my sexual orientation._ His finger hovered over the mouse pad. False.

_I find men more attractive than women_. Did he? Or was it just that he found one particular person more attractive and everyone else had kind of equal footing after that? Cas was a being of celestial intent, not a man. Well, Dean was pretty sure that Jimmy Novak was dead and that it was only Cas inside that body. That made Cas a man. Shit. True.

_I would find a threesome with a couple awkward specifically because of the presence of the man._ False.

_I am only attracted to men_. False.

_I am sexually submissive._ Whoa, what? Was he? Dean thought back through the years, through the times that he’d had to turn tricks to get enough money to make sure Sam was fed. Even though he hadn’t been exactly _happy_ about giving handjobs or head in that context, it wasn’t as though he could honestly say he didn’t go back to the motel afterwards and get off, remembering sometimes the guys talking about his ‘cocksucking lips’ or petting his head and telling him he was ‘real pretty’. Hell, the first time he turned a trick he got off immediately afterwards. He remembered the time Castiel had pressed him against the counter in Bobby’s kitchen and told Dean to show him a little respect. Dean had been so hard his jeans felt like they were going to rip and it was all he could do to stop the excited whimper from escaping. Shit. He _was_ sexually submissive. True.

 

Dean clicked ‘submit’. He read: _The test is complete. Below is the Kinsey Scale, your result has been highlighted._ He looked down. There was a number 3 highlighted, along with the words: _Equally heterosexual and homosexual._ Huh. Well, that explained a lot. After a moment he got up and went to the kitchen for some coffee. If he was going to make sense of all of this—of himself—it looked like he was in for a long night.

~~~~~~~~

Dean walked out of the kitchen, coffee in hand, and stopped. Sam was sitting in his chair, looking at the results on the Kinsey Scale. _Sam was looking at the results on the Kinsey Scale that said ‘equally heterosexual and homosexual’_. Shit. Dean tried to back out of the room slowly.

“Dean, please don’t. Unless you’re just going back into the kitchen to get me some coffee, too.” Sam gave him a small half-smile and the tightness that had been constricting Dean’s throat eased a little. He went back and got another cup and made a point to keep his hands steady. He fought monsters every damned day; a talk with his brother was _not_ going to make his hands shake.

“So, uh—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, before you start trying to back out of this conversation. We’re having it. So,” Sam took a sip of his coffee, set it down, and looked very seriously at his brother. “You’re bisexual. I knew that. Remember Neal?”

Dean’s heart clenched. Of course he remembered Neal. It had haunted him, not knowing whether Neal knew how much he had cared, how he hadn’t wanted to leave without saying goodbye. He sometimes thought about looking the guy up to explain his story, but that would get too close to the feelings that Dean had been suppressing since he was eleven years old, so he never did.

“I knew the day we left that something was up. I wasn’t going to say anything to you, though because…well, because you’re you and you don’t do ‘feelings’. But obviously you’re having some issues now and so we’re going to talk about it.” There probably wasn’t going to be any arguing with Sam. When he got into this mood there wasn’t going to be any wise-ass remark that Dean could make to get out of it.

Dean sat back. “It’s…you know, it’s Dad. It was Dad. Still is, I guess. I don’t know. Shit,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “So you remember Neal. Well, the day we left is when Dad found out about him. He told me that he wouldn’t have a …” ( _fairy fucking faggot,_ his mind supplied) “…a gay son. So I tried to stop. You know, only date chicks.”

Sam scoffed slightly. “And you think that it’s wrong to be in love with Cas because Dad was homophobic?”

Dean held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, there buddy. Let’s put on the brakes a little. No one said anything about me being in love with Cas.”

Dean was subjected to the patented Sam Winchester Bitch Face. “Please, Dean. I mean, I know the guy’s your best friend, but it’s also obvious you’re in love with him and that he returns the sentiment. Come on, Crowley _and_ Balthazar know. When both Heaven and Hell start saying the same thing, call me crazy, but I pay attention.”

Dean looked down into his coffee. There weren’t any magical answers to be seen in its depths, so he kept quiet.

Sam sighed. “Okay, fine. We won’t talk about your relationship specifically. How about we look at it like a case? The Case of ‘It’s Okay to Be Gay’—or bi or pan or whatever type of sexuality you adhere to. In ancient societies it was considered incredibly normal to have sexual partners who were male or female. You know that the Greeks had sexual relationships between men and boys?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t mean _boys,_ boys, I mean young men and older men. It was more of a mentorship kind of role that had a sexual aspect to it. It was a normal part of society. They had very strict rules about ages and ethics and consent. People accepted it as a part of everyday life.”

“Yeah, well, they sure as hell unaccepted it. Shit, Sammy, you know what Dad was like.”

“No, Dad…Dad wouldn’t be very accepting, would he? He was a Marine. Everything needed to be dress-right-dressed. Nothing could be out of place, things had to be done exactly to his standards. Being anything but a zero on the Kinsey Scale would be considered out of regulation to him, and anything out of regulation could jeopardize the mission, so he’d take corrective action.”

Dean snorted at the phrase _corrective action_. “Oh, he took some all right.”

Sam knew what Dean meant but they both knew that they didn’t want to open that can of worms yet. One crisis at a time. “Look, there’s this guy, Foucault, and he talks about something called the Repressive Hypothesis. It’s about the discourse about sexuality being controlled by a certain group of people. For the most part what he talks about doesn’t really pertain to this situation, but there’s some stuff that does. He says that discourse, power, and knowledge are all linked together, because whoever holds the power can control the discourse. They’re the ones who decide what kind of sex is spoken about, when it’s spoken about, to whom it’s spoken, everything. Everything about them is about power. Dean, that’s Dad. He wanted to control _every_ aspect of our lives, sex included. By taking complete control over what you knew about sex, he had more control over _you_. You’ve got to take a step back and realize that things you learned about homosexuality and bisexuality growing up are all from the perspective of Dad. That man didn’t want you to do anything without his say-so, and finding emotional and physical comfort with another guy wasn’t something Dad knew how to deal with, so he made sure you didn’t do it.”

“I thought we weren’t going to focus on me specifically.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of tough when the main reason you have a hang-up about this is the fact that it’s _you_ who has the hang-up about this.”

Dean was still staring into his coffee. “I’m pretty sure that Dad didn’t get all his beliefs from nowhere.”

Sam sighed. “No, you’re right about that, Dean. But Dad’s beliefs are from a time when the majority of society was afraid of a lot of things, like the Cold War and the Russians. During that time the people in power were able to get gays lumped in with the Russians, so there was a lot of fear surrounding homosexuality. That fear was really prevalent in the military because no one wanted a treasonous spy in their midst, and if you were gay you were probably a KGB spy. But now, most people have a much more open and accepting view of homosexuality and bisexuality. Even the military is backing down, and we’ve got gay marriage legal in how many states? Things are looking up for the LGBT community.”

Dean nodded, thinking absently about everything Sam said. Then something clicked. “Wait, how do you know all this stuff? Are you…” he made a hand gesture that was supposed to mean ‘please finish this sentence so I don’t have to’.

“Gay? Bisexual? Pansexual? No, not really. I’m probably a ‘one’ on the Kinsey Scale, but that’s about it. I mean, if you don’t count the time when I didn’t have a soul. Then I was probably a two or a three, but that doesn’t really count, does it?” Dean opened his mouth to comment but Sam rushed on. “Um, actually, I took a class on the history of sexuality. It was one of my electives at Stanford. I found it really interesting.”

There was a quip on the edge of Dean’s tongue about how Sam surely found a course about old Greek geezers giving it to little boys interesting, but he refrained. He owed it to Sammy to get this all figured out in his head a. He knew deep down that since Sam accepted it without a thought he should be okay, but there was something holding him back. “Okay, but just because I’ve thought about … you know… with guys, doesn’t mean I’m…whatever.”

Sam gave a long-suffering sigh. A really long-suffering sigh. Hey, Dean was not _that_ difficult a guy to talk to. Was he? “Dean, you’re caught up on what society has constructed for you. You need to be perceived as super-masculine because you’re afraid that if you show any type of emotion or attraction to someone other than a random chick for a one-night-stand people will think less of you.” Even though that was exactly what one of those things Dean read said, he opened his mouth to protest anyway. Sam ignored it and talked right over him. “Go read Kinsey’s book about males and male sexuality. Men having same-sex thoughts and feelings, and acting on them, is way more common than anyone had admitted before he did his research. _In the forties._ Dude, don’t you get it? _Society_ has constructed this whole persona of who they think you need to be, and since when the hell do you listen to them? Don’t you play by your own rules? Jesus, we’ve both _literally been to Hell_ , and you’re getting caught up on what someone’s going to think if you say you’re in love with another guy? Who, by the way, is an angel and doesn’t really have a gender.”

Dean bristled a little at that. “First of all, Sammy, I’m pretty sure that Jimmy is dead, so it’s just Cas in there, which does make him a guy. Second, stop saying I’m in love with him! Sex and love are two totally different things! That stupid test just asked about whether or not I’d fuck a dude. Emotions were not brought up at all, in any way. None.”

Oh, look, there was the Sam Winchester Bitch Face again. “I swear to god, I’m going to punch you in the face if you try to deny you’re in—that you _have feelings_ for Cas. When we thought he was dead you carried his trench coat in the Impala for _a year_. A year, Dean. You didn’t hold on to Bobby’s flask for that long, and he was a better father than our own dad.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Okay, maybe he held on to the ugly-ass trench coat. Maybe he thought about Cas all the damned time. Maybe he had jerked off to him once or twice (a week). But Dean Winchester didn’t have feelings. The only emotional attachments he had were familial. Sam was family. Bobby was family. Cas was family. Did he need it to be more than that?

Dean closed his eyes as acceptance finally sank into him. There was really only one thing to do about it.

“All right, Sammy, I get your point. I’m going to go rack out. Good talk.” Dean patted his brother on the shoulder as he walked by. When he got to his room he closed the door and turned the lock. He walked into the center of the room and stood there, feeling kind of like an idiot. He had a mission though, and if there was one thing Dean Winchester was good at, it was completing a mission.


	5. Case Closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last official chapter of the story. It's un-beta'd as of right now, so all mistakes are mine. There may be an epilogue written by a guest author, but it's unconfirmed as of yet, so I won't add that extra chapter number. Thank you lovelies for sticking with me through all of this! I adore each and every one of you.

Dean stood in the center of the room, closed his eyes and spread his hands, palms facing upwards. “Cas, buddy, I’d like to talk to you. I hope you’re listening. Can you spare some time for me?” Dean waited a moment, then squinted one eye open, peeking to see if Cas had arrived yet. It didn’t look like it.

“Hello, Dean.” The gravelly voice came from right behind him, so close that he could feel the angel’s hot breath on the back of his neck. He jumped.

“Jesus, Cas! Get a damned bell or something, would you?”

Cas tilted his head to the side. “You prayed to me. You wished to see me. I am here. I do not understand why you would be surprised that I have come to you.”

“Just…warn a guy that you’re that close.” Dean shifted, rubbed the back of his neck, and refused to meet the angel’s gaze.

“What is it I can help you with, Dean?” Cas still hadn’t moved, and Dean had only turned around. They were close enough that Dean could feel the body heat rolling off Cas. Knowing—accepting—what he felt for the angel made it difficult for him to not back as far away as he could. Or, you know, throw the angel on the bed and fuck him into the mattress. If Cas were into that sort of thing. He might not be, though. Castiel was an angel, after all; he probably didn’t even understand human emotion enough to know what Dean was about to ask. Maybe he should just forget about it.

_Man up, Winchester._ Deep breath. _Out with it_. “So, Cas, there’s, uh, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Anything, Dean.”

_Anything._ Strange choice of words, but it was probably just what Dean needed to hear _. Here goes nothing_. “What do you think about human relationships?”

This was obviously not what Castiel was expecting, but he answered readily enough. “I find them to be beautiful. The bond that two humans can form is most fascinating thing to watch. I once spent thirty years following a single pair of Neanderthals as they discovered love. It was an enlightening experience.”

Dean wasn’t quite sure about how to continue. He felt flustered again, just like when Aaron had flirted with him. _Damn it, Dean, pull yourself together._ “Would you consider—uh, I mean, think about ever…” _Shit. Smooth, buddy. Real smooth._

Cas did the head tilt thing. “Dean, are you attempting to ask me my opinion on whether or not I would enter into a relationship with a human?”

“I, uh…yeah, Cas. I am.”

Castiel took a deep breath and stared at the wall behind Dean’s head. He didn’t know it was possible, but somehow Cas’ voice got even lower, rougher. “I have considered the matter many times in the past few years. I had come to the conclusion long ago that regardless of my feelings in the matter it is not something I would be able to achieve.”

Dean’s stomach was doing something weird. He couldn’t tell if his chest was going to explode or implode. Was he even breathing? “Why is that?” He couldn’t stop staring at the damned angel’s mouth.

“I believe the only human with whom I would enter into such a relationship is uninterested.” Cas said it simply, but both fear and hope flared in Dean at that.

He cleared his throat. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I have attempted on several occasions to make my feelings known and he has not shown any interest or desire in reciprocating.”

_He. He_ has not shown any interest. The fear died down a little. Hope rose.

“Maybe he just didn’t know, or didn’t think it would be right. Who, uh—who’s the guy, Cas?” Dean couldn’t help but step forward slightly. They were close enough now that their breath mingled. He could hear the angel’s breath hitch slightly.

Castiel hesitated a moment before he laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder, in the same place his hand print had been. “I should think it was obvious. The one I rebuilt. The one I raised from Perdition,” Cas squeezed his shoulder. “You, Dean.”

Dean stared into Castiel’s eyes for a moment, letting it sink in. Then he grabbed the back of the angel’s neck and dragged their mouths together.

Kissing Cas was unlike kissing any chick Dean had been with. His mouth was fuller, his stubble scratched Dean’s cheeks and chin, and the hands that buried themselves in Dean’s hair could literally crush him without even straining. It was an exhilarating feeling. Dean melted into the angel, trying to show him that he was done pretending. He was done letting John Winchester control every piece of his life. He was his own man, and if he wanted to spend the rest of his life with another man, that was his own goddamned choice.

Dean pulled away slightly and rested their foreheads together. “I …I need you, Cas. I need to be with you. I’m sorry for taking so long to realize it. I got hung up on stupid shit. I just,” he let out a shaky breath. “God, I need you so much.”

Castiel cupped Dean’s face in his hands. He reverently kissed every one of the freckles along Dean’s cheeks and nose, then pressed a kiss to each eyelid, the corners of his mouth, and finally a long, yearning kiss to his mouth. “You have me, Dean. You have always had me, since I first laid eyes on the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen.”

Tears did _not_ well up in Dean’s eyes as he kissed Cas again. He tentatively ran his tongue along the seam of Cas’ lips, wanting to show the angel without words exactly how much he meant to Dean.

When Cas opened his mouth and let Dean’s tongue slip inside, it felt like coming home. This meeting of mouths, this mating of tongues, was exactly what Dean had been missing. He ran a hand down Cas’ back and pulled him in closer, pressing their hips together. Cas moaned at the contact and thrust forward nervously, looking for friction. He pushed at Dean until the backs of his knees hit the bed.

“Dean,” the angel breathed, “I would like to show you the depth of my affection. Please let me touch you.”

Dean huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, Cas. That sounds good.”

Castiel quickly shed his coat, suit jacket, shoes, and socks, then reached out to Dean, skimming his hands under the hemline of Dean’s shirt. His touch was feather-light, causing Dean to shiver. Cas moved his hands up along Dean’s ribs, pulling the shirt as he went and tossing carelessly on the floor as he stared at Dean’s chest. He leaned down and carefully placed a kiss on Dean’s chest, right above his heart. His lips traveled upwards, lightly pressing along Dean’s collarbone, the dip at the base of his neck, and up behind his ear.

Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head back as Cas mouthed along his jaw, whispering supplications in Enochian. His heart fluttered, understanding the meaning behind the words even if he couldn’t translate them. Cas traced his hand along every freckle on Dean’s face, then moved to the smattering on his shoulders. He found each one with fingertips and lips until Dean was trembling with need.

He moved his hands up to undo the buttons on the angel’s shirt, exploring each new patch of skin with his fingertips, enjoying the hitch in Cas’ breathing as he reached the waistband of his pants.

Dean gently undid the button and pulled down the zipper, sliding the pants down Cas’ hips and staring in awe at the naked man before him. His body was tan, all hard lines and thick muscle, and it was probably the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen.

Suddenly Dean was wearing far too many clothes. He stripped and roughly pulled Cas against him, kissing him with years of pent-up want and need and _love_ that he was finally allowing himself to express.

When they broke apart to breathe, Dean nuzzled into the crook of Cas’ neck. He had never noticed the scent of the angel— _his angel_ —before, but it was intoxicating. He pushed himself closer to Cas, needing to feel as much of him as possible.

“Cas, baby, I want to try something.”

Castiel paused in rubbing small circles on Dean’s back. “What do you want, Dean? If it’s within my power, you will have it.”

Their eyes met. “I want to have you inside of me.” He was putting a lot of trust in Cas to ask him for this, and the other man knew it.

Cas’ fingers flexed, digging into Dean’s flesh just shy of the point of pain. He licked his lips and nodded, a shy smile on his face.

Dean moved to the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube. He gestured for Cas to lay on the bed, then knelt between his legs.

Castiel was a beautiful sight, chest flushed and lips reddened from kissing. Dean hovered over those lips for a moment, savoring the fact that this was _actually happening_. He mouthed along Cas’ jaw, then moved down his neck, leaving a trail of sloppy, wet kisses. He lathed his tongue along ribs, moving on to pay special attention to a pair of hip bones that Dean hadn’t previously registered as _sexy as fuck_ but was happy to take the time to appreciate now.

He hovered his mouth over the head of Cas’ cock, which was already leaking pre-come. His tongue darted out, catching the salty-bitter drops before swirling gently around the head. When Castiel gasped and arched his hips upward, Dean grinned. He had always been good at this, and now that he had someone he actually wanted to use his skills on, he was going to take his time and savor it.

Flattening his tongue, Dean licked a long stripe from the base of Cas’ cock to the tip and was awarded with a harsh, breathy, “Dean.”

He clicked open the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount onto two fingers. He took Cas in hand and swallowed him down, moving his other hand behind him to circle at his own entrance. He gently pushed one finger in, relishing the slight burn. It had been so long since he’d done this and he’d forgotten how good it felt.

He set a slow, teasing rhythm, opening himself up and taking Cas apart at the same time. When Cas’ hands found their way into Dean’s hair, nails digging slightly into his scalp, he groaned and added a second finger.

Cas bucked his hips at the groan, pushing himself all the way to the back of Dean’s throat. He choked a bit, unprepared. Looking up, he saw Cas staring at him, pupils blown and chest heaving.

Dean grinned inwardly and, keeping eye contact with Cas the whole time, took the swollen cock as deep as he could, until his nose was pressed against the lush, dark hair at the base. He swallowed, constricting his throat around Cas, and was rewarded with a strangled intake of breath and what sounded like a prayer in Enochian.

He pulled off just long enough to take a breath, then went back down. Adding a third finger to himself, he swallowed around Cas’ length a second time, then a third.

It was such a fucking turn-on to swallow Cas down his throat and fuck himself on his fingers at the same time. His pleasure was intensified knowing the cock he was currently sucking would soon be inside him, filling him up and pounding into him. He groaned again at the thought.

Castiel was positively _wrecked_ , writhing and calling out incoherently. It was so fucking hot that Dean could do this to him. He could sense that the angel was close to coming, so he slowed down, taking his fingers out and pulling off Cas with a pop.

“Do you want to see what you taste like, sweetheart?” Dean moved until they were lined up with each other, hips slotted together and mouths inches apart. He gently kissed open Cas’ lips, slipping his tongue inside.

Castiel moaned into Dean’s mouth and gripped his shoulders. “Dean, please.” Dean could hear the desperation in his voice.

Dean kissed him again, biting his bottom lip and running his tongue across it. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Hips rolled up into his. “You,” came the broken whisper.

He grabbed the lube and rubbed a healthy amount onto the already leaking cock before lining it up at his hole. “You’ve got me, Cas,” he said, sinking down slowly, letting himself be filled. “You’ve got me for as long as you’ll have me.”

Slowly he bottomed out, letting his body adjust. When he was ready, he braced his hands on Cas’ chest and rose up a little, then rocked back down. Castiel put his hands on Dean’s hips and slowly thrust up, finding a rhythm that seemed to match the thrumming in their veins. Dean savored the feeling of being so completely filled. "Fuck, Cas, fill me up. Feel so good, baby."

Cas’ arm shifted, moving across Dean’s back to grip him, and suddenly Dean was staring up into those blue eyes instead of down. Cas grinned at him and leaned down to suck a mark on Dean’s neck. “Mine,” he whispered.

The possessiveness in the angel’s voice made Dean’s still-untouched cock twitch. He shouldn’t find it so hot, but Jesus, it was almost enough to make him come. “Yeah, Cas, I’m yours. Fuck, baby, _Christ_ , yes I’m yours.”

Cas moved slightly, changing the angle to suck more marks across Dean’s chest, and the next thrust hit Dean’s prostate. He cried out, hands twisting in the sheets. Every thrust now hit that spot until Dean was panting and practically writhing. Castiel didn’t let up; he was too busy marking up every inch of Dean he could get his mouth on, whispering _mine_ in English and Enochian and probably a few other languages. Dean felt that coil low in his stomach that told him he was close.

“Cas, baby, you’re—fuck—gonna make me come if you keep that up.”

Instead of slowing down like Dean expected, Cas lifted his head and wrapped a hand around Dean’s leaking cock. They stared into each other’s eyes as Cas timed his thrusts with his hand. “You’re mine, Dean Winchester,” he growled, voice low and gravelly and _fuck_ , it was enough to push Dean right over the edge. He threw back his head and cried out Cas’ name, vision going hazy. He clenched tight around Cas, causing him to follow Dean over the edge, spurting inside him filling him up and claiming him before collapsing on Dean’s chest.

After a couple minutes when their breathing returned to normal and a stray shirt had been used to clean up, Dean found himself carding his hand through dark, messy hair. He pressed a soft kiss to Cas’ temple and breathed a contented sigh.

“Did you mean it, Dean?” Castiel’s voice sounded hesitant and he spoke quietly. Dean lifted his head to look at the angel.

“Which part?”

“The staying with me for as long as I’ll have you.”

“Yeah, of course I meant it.”

Cas went up on one elbow. “This is very serious, Dean. Don’t say that unless you truly mean it. Angels bond for life, and ours is significantly longer than a human life. Your soul would be intertwined with my grace. I understand if you do not wish to bind yourself to me in this way.”

Dean smiled softly and reached out to cup Castiel’s cheek. “Come on, dude. You can’t really think that I wouldn’t know what ‘as long as you’ll have me’ means to you. ‘Sides, I’m pretty sure that I’ve already got part of your grace in me.”

Cas smiled. “You do. From when I rebuilt you.”

He traced his thumb across Cas’ bottom lip. “There now, you see? I’ve been yours this whole time.” He leaned forward and kissed him softly. “Do, uh, you want to do this now?”

Blue eyes searched green and Dean was almost positive that Cas was looking at his soul. Finally, the angel nodded and cupped Dean’s face in his hands. He leaned forward, and this time their kiss felt more like melting into one another. Dean could _feel_ Castiel, like he used to through that hand print, and he could tell that Cas had the same sensations from him. It was exhilarating.

Castiel pulled back and released Dean’s face. “The bonding is complete.”

Dean wrapped his—what, partner?—in his arms and kissed his hair. “I guess this would be a good time to tell you that I, um, love you?”

He could feel Cas smile against his chest. “I know, Dean. I can feel it through the bond.”

Dean was about to ask Cas if he had just Solo’d him when suddenly there was a hesitant knock at the door. Sam’s voice came floating in. “Uh, guys? I’m glad that you finally worked everything out, but it’s really late and you were _really_ loud. Could you maybe keep it down a bit in the future?”

Dean snorted. “Buy some noise-canceling headphones, Sammy.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcome! I live for your comments and kudos.
> 
> My [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/eveanyn)


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